"Yes, all alone.Sylvester left at five o'clock""Who knew the combination of the safe?"
"Only Rochester and I."
It was Ferguson's turn to spring up "By -!" he exclaimed."I thought the electric bulbs in the office felt warm, as if they had recently been burning - Rochester must have been there just before me.""It would seem that Rochester is still in the city," remarked Clymer.
"Do you know, Kent, whether he had his office keys with him?""I presume so," Kent slipped his hand inside his pocket and took out a bunch of keys."He left these duplicates in his desk at the office.""Sure they are duplicates?" questioned Ferguson, and Kent flushed.
"I know they are," he retorted."Rochester had them made over a year ago as a matter of convenience, for he was always forgetting his keys, and kept these at our office.""He's a queer cuss," was the detective's only comment and Clymer broke into the conversation.
"Did you find any address or paper in the safe which might prove a clew, Ferguson?" he inquired.
"Nothing, not even a scrap of paper," and the detective's tone was glum.
"Did the safe look as if its contents had been tumbled about?"asked Kent.
"No, everything seemed in order." Ferguson thrust his hand inside his coat pocket."There was one envelope in the right hand compartment which puzzled me -""Hold on - was that compartment also unlocked?" asked Kent.
"It was," not giving Kent time to speak again Ferguson continued his remarks."As this was unaddressed I brought it to you, Mr.
Kent, to ask if it was your personal property" - he drew out the white envelope which Helen McIntyre had brought Kent that morning and turned it over so that both men could see the large red seal bearing the letter "B.""It is my property," asserted Kent instantly.
"Would you mind opening it?" asked Ferguson.
"I would, most certainly; it relates to my personal affairs."Ferguson looked a trifle non-plussed."Would you mind telling me its contents, Mr.Kent?" he asked persuasively.
Kent regarded the detective squarely.He could not betray Helen, the envelope might contain harmless nonsense, but she had placed it in his safe-keeping - no, confound it, she had left it in the safe for Rochester - and Rochester was apparently a fugitive from justice, while circumstantial evidence pointed to his having poisoned Helen's lover, Jimmie...
"If you must know, Ferguson," Kent spoke with deliberation."They are old love letters of mine."Clymer glanced down at the envelope which the detective still held, the red seal making a distinct blotch of color on the white, glazed surface.
"Ah, Kent," he said in amusement."So rumor is right in predicting your engagement to Barbara McIntyre.Good luck to you!"Through the open doorway to the dining room where the dancing had ceased for the moment, came a soft laugh and Mrs.Brewster looked in at them.McIntyre, standing like her shadow, gazed in curiosity over her shoulder at the three men.
"How jolly to find you," cooed Mrs.Brewster."And what a charming retreat! It's much too nice to be occupied by men, only." She inclined her head in a little gracious bow to Ferguson and stepped inside.
"Have my chair," suggested Clymer hospitably as the pretty widow raised her lorgnette and scanned the Oriental hangings and lamps, and lastly, the white envelope which lay on the table, red seal uppermost, where Ferguson had placed it on her entrance.
"Are your daughters here, Colonel McIntyre?" asked Kent as he took a step toward the table.McIntyre's answer was drowned in an outburst of cheering in the dining room and the rush of many feet.
On common impulse Kent and the others turned toward the doorway and looked inside the dining room.Two officers of the French High Commission were being held on the shoulders of comrades and were delivering, as best they could amidst cheers and applause, their farewell to hospitable Washington.
As his companions brushed by him to join the gay throng in the center of the room, Kent turned back to pick up the envelope he had left lying on the table.It was gone.
In feverish haste Kent looked under the table, under the chairs, the lounge and its cushions, behind the draperies, and even under the rugs which covered the floor of the porch, and then rose and stared into the dining room.Which one of his companions had taken the envelope?
Outside the porch the beautiful trumpet vine, its sturdy trunk and thick branches reaching almost to the roof of the club building, rustled as in a high wind, and the branches swayed this way and that as a figure climbed swiftly down from the porch until, reaching the fence separating the club property from its neighbor's, the man swung across it, no mean athletic feet, and taking advantage of each sheltering shadow, darted into the alley and from there down silent, deserted Nineteenth Street.
